


An Anniversary

by konstellasjon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:25:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konstellasjon/pseuds/konstellasjon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You hope Finland is happy with him, as happy as you were."</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Anniversary

It is their anniversary. You do not know which anniversary. They know, of course, but you have lost count. All you know is that it has been many, many years. Longer than any semblance of a relationship you have ever been in. 

Their anniversary falls on the day of a meeting, and they arrive late, and on the smaller one’s face there is an impish smile, similar to that of a child who has been doing something they shouldn’t. 

A few of those assembled there laugh softly, and the smaller of the pair laughs, and the taller one looks awkward, as if he is not comfortable with any of this. You slowly realise that he is not. 

They take their seats, the meeting starts up again, and you try to concentrate and make notes. However you are ever aware of the two of them, sat so close to each other, no doubt more interested in each other than in the meeting. Knowing the meeting will not stop if you do so, you raise your head to look at them, feeling like a teacher checking that a pupil is working. 

They are, surprisingly. That is, the smaller one is. The taller one is sat, his eyes vacant behind his glasses. He is looking down at his hands, resting on the desk. You look at the band of metal across one of his fingers, when suddenly his hand curls into a fist, and you look up at his face. He’s looking at you now, still expressionless. You regard him cautiously, not quite knowing how you feel about this whole situation. 

Suddenly, his eyes soften, and his gaze drops for a moment before returning to you. He looks almost apologetic, as if he regrets this whole damn situation, whatever that is. 

And then, quite without warning, it is your turn to speak, and reluctantly you approach the podium, and as you say your piece, you can feel his eyes on you, his gaze unwavering. 

Sometimes, you think that he is still completely obsessed with you. Obsessed, like he is no longer allowed to be, as much as you want him to. 

-

The two of you haven’t had many chances to talk like you used to. The main reason being he is not yours anymore, thus it is no longer acceptable to talk about some of the things that used to come up in conversation. 

But you long for the days when you could say anything to him, and he’d reply with the utmost sincerity and honesty. Of all the people you’ve ever met, he is the only person you can have a conversation with, and make it last for hours. 

You miss it. And him.

-

They take you, and your brother, and the annoying one you suppose is your friend, out for dinner, because today is special to them. 

The evening goes fine, you suppose. The food is nice, the wine is nice, the atmosphere is nice. The conversation flows freely, no such hint of awkwardness as you supposed there might be. 

You eventually decide that the situation is not as bad as you thought it was. No one else is as bothered about any of this as you are. No one else cares, including him, the tall, quiet one. 

Sweden, the name he doesn’t want you to call him. He says you’re allowed to call him Berwald, you should move beyond formalities. He doesn’t call you Norway, why should this be different?

You want to remind him that everything is different. 

It is their anniversary and they retire for the night early, almost impatient to leave. You take the annoying one you suppose is your friend home, he’s too drunk to manage it on his own. 

Your brother is staying with a friend. They might be lovers, you don’t know, you haven’t asked.

You drive home in silence, and you find a message waiting on your phone. As you listen, you realise it is Berwald, and the message is long, in Swedish, and entirely inappropriate given his marital status.

But you listen, again and again, staying up much later than you intended, just listening to his voice. 

"Norge." He begins. His voice is quiet, as if he is wary that someone will hear him. 

"I’m sorry for tonight." He has nothing to be sorry for, but you listen on. "I know it hurts you to see…to see us together, being as bold as we are. I know it hurts you, and for that I’m sorry. But I was so glad that you came tonight. It makes me so happy to think that you can stand to be near us, even as open as we are. I’m glad you can stand it. You always were strong, darling."

He’s only called you that. Never Finland, he’d never call Tino ‘darling’. He finds other words, because you are his darling, you were before Tino was even around, you always will be. When it comes to Tino, he finds other things. 

"You’re my best friend. You’re more than that, I can’t find words to describe how much you mean to me. And I only want you to be happy. I know that is hard, considering Tino and I. But seeing you happy makes me happy in turn, you see. You know every day I think about those days. And we both know that it was both our faults that we lost each other. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep my promises to you."

And you are sorry that you didn’t do anything to amend the situation, and pull him back from Finland’s grasp. When you saw Sweden drifting away from him, there was only silence, heartbroken, envious silence. 

"But I want you to know, darling, I love you. You are the first person I ever loved, and when you love for the first time, it doesn’t stop."

There is a pause, and Sweden takes a shaky breath. You imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed to stave off any possible tears. 

"I’m going to call again in the morning. Sorry, that came out wrong. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to call back in the morning." 

There is no goodbye. There doesn’t need to be. You stare at the phone, as if it might change into something else before your eyes. It does not, and you feel painfully impassive. Inside, you feels hollow, numb. 

Sweden said he would call again in the morning. 

You unplug your phone, retreat to your bed. You don’t come out until late in the afternoon. 

And when you finally emerges back into the world of the conscious, your voice is hoarse from sobbing into your pillow, and your eyes are red, painfully so. 

And you hope Finland is happy with him, as happy as you were.


End file.
